Pretending the Past
by airuhkuh
Summary: It's been five years since she's lived that life, and now that Ron's awake from the coma, she has to continue as if nothing changed, when everything did.
1. Part 1

**A/N:** If any of you read Quiet Goodbye, you'll find this looks remarkably similar! Well, it is. I decided to continue it because my imagination ran with it. The chapters, parts really, are short, around 1000 words or less. I really felt like less was more in this case. I do hope you enjoy this. **  
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**Pretending the Past  
Part 1  
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Her shoes clicked on the tile floor, echoing around the otherwise deadly silent hallway. Despite it being the only noise, the man she strode toward did not give any motion that indicated he heard her walking. He kept his head bent, slouched against the sterile white wall, steadfastly staring at his shoes.

It was only once her own shoes, pointy, expensive, and black, came into view that he acknowledged her presence. When he did, it was with a brief duck, sadly reminding her of a puppy she once had that would whine whenever they had to put it outside. Her heart clenched and she swallowed thickly.

"He's awake." She said it quietly, her eyes darting to the blank white wall above his head. She could just barely see his shaggy black hair, the way it was sexily tousled as if she had just run her hands through it with a moan of delight. Sudden tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked rapidly.

He did not say anything in return. She did not expect him to, as he was generally a quiet sort who only spoke when he felt his words had real meaning and even less when he thought his words couldn't have meaning enough. He merely lifted his head and stared her down with eyes so dark they looked black.

She could have spent a hundred years looking at his face and still never be satisfied. He had a rugged look about him, with scruff that covered his strong chin and jaw line, scruff that would tickle her own cheeks when he would rub it against her. She'd try to sound annoyed, but the giggles always came out in the end. She lifted a hand and began to trace his features, pausing over the parts she liked best. She delicately traced his lips which she'd felt so many times on her own skin, vividly remembering that his favorite way to say hello was to come up behind her, encircle her waist with one strong forearm, lift her hair gently with his other hand, and place wet kisses down her neck.

She dropped her hand and looked down. She didn't want him to see her tears as they dripped, heavy and warm, down her cheeks.

Immediately, his dark hand was there, turning her chin to face her head on. His obsidian eyes held so much emotion that they overwhelmed her almost more than the situation. They were devoid of tears, unlike her plain brown ones which spilled over with the salty drops.

She could see, however, without the tears just how much this affected him too. He hid behind his hair a little as if trying to shield himself from the reality and pain of the situation. A muscle in his jaw clenched repeatedly as it always did when he tried to hold his emotions in check, usually his anger.

She lifted her lips to his jaw and pressed them there, leaving a salty wetness behind. As she pulled away, he abruptly grabbed her lips in a slow kiss, caressing every part of her mouth and tongue as if trying to memorize her from the inside out. More hot tears squeezed out, and she grabbed his face as if it were her only life line. He pulled away reluctantly and kissed her tear stained cheeks.

She knew what it was. It was their final kiss.

He pulled away from her, but she latched on to his hand. His expression mirrored hers and told her just how much he hated this, just how much it crushed him. But there was nothing else they could do.

"Good-bye, Blaise," she whispered as his fingers slipped through hers. She watched, feeling utterly lost, as he walked away, ducking his head and stuffing his fists in his pockets. Despite how much she wanted him to, he did not, could not, coming running back to swoop her up in a kiss that made her insides warm. Never again.

She continued to stare at his retreating back, and the further he went the more she felt as if she was drowning. She couldn't do this, to just say good-bye and then go back to acting as if it was normal. She desperately wanted to run after him. She needed to go back into the room. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to do either.

"Hermione?"

The voice shocked her into action and she jumped around to see a young witch looking at her expectantly with her head poking out the door.

"Yes?" she replied absently, feeling her breath shudder as she did.

"Ron's asking for you. Why don't you dry those tears and come say hello to your husband?" she suggested kindly. "Five years is a long time; I'd be mighty happy too." Hermione gave a slow nod and the witch disappeared into the room.

She wiped her cheeks before heading to the door. After one final look back, to catch any glimpse of him that may still be there, she entered the room where her husband lay, ready to greet her, expecting to pick up life just as it had been, when she had moved on long ago.


	2. Part 2

**Pretending the Past  
Part 2**

She held her breath as she stepped into the suite, trying to suppress the shudder that came with every breath. A hand absently reached up to swipe at her eyes, coming away wet with salty tears. Her stomach quivered with nerves, wondering and half hoping that he saw the goodbye in the hallway and things would be resolved.

But alas, it wasn't so. When he spotted her, a grin broke out on his face and his features lit up with joy. Her heart clenched tightly and she couldn't hold back one last sob. Five years of thinking her husband was as good as dead, and now he awoke and she couldn't find it in her to feel anything but misery.

"Hermione." The word was a whisper on his breath that didn't hide his relief, his happiness. He struggled to sit up, probably looking to take her in his embrace and calm her down, but it was a futile effort. After five years of being stationary, his muscles had deteriorated to the point where he could only twitch. She turned her head in shame as relief flooded through her, relief that she wouldn't have to feel his embrace just yet.

"I thought I had lost you forever," she said quietly. She sat down on the grey plastic chair beside his bed and fiddled with the hem of her skirt, keeping her eyes from locking onto his, half afraid she'd find anger and hurt in the blue orbs.

"I'm back though," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Hey, don't cry, Hermione." She closed her eyes to hold back the tears, yet they squeezed through, fat and heavy, every drop a testimony of how cruel a person she was to simply give up on this man who loved her so much.

"I'm…shocked," she murmured. A silence descended upon the room, only the ticking of various medical instruments gave any sort of noise. She could feel his eyes upon her, yet she stayed focused on her hands, unable to raise her eyes to his. As much as she treasured the quiet times with Blaise, the silence felt too uncomfortable with a man she'd left behind.

"Molly and Arthur are doing well. I expect they'll be here as soon as they can. Bill and Fleur have a son, and Charlie hasn't settled down yet. Percy moved to the United States. I'm afraid we don't hear much of him anymore." She knew without looking that he undoubtedly had a scowl across his face. "Ginny and Harry broke it off. Ginny fell for an Italian wizard and Harry is with Draco." This time she did take a glance at him, even though she was already certain that his eyes bugged out of his head and his mouth would be open in a silent scream. She was right, of course, and felt the urge to beat him over the head and see that being with a Slytherin was not consorting with the enemy. A deep breath later, she was composed and once again staring at her hands, her brow slightly furrowed.

"What about you?" he asked.

The words stilled Hermione's heart and hands. She became rigid, her mouth clenching shut as she struggled to find something to say. She did not want to lie to him; he deserved the truth. Yet she didn't want to hurt him, and the truth surely would.

He misread her reaction, much to her relief, and blathered apologies. They did nothing to make her feel better, only making her seem crueler. It was she who should be apologizing for giving up on him, for moving on, for falling in love with a new man.

Stupidly, she chanced a glance at him. Her cruel heart froze in her chest and took her breath along with it. It was akin to looking at a ghost, one that would haunt her forever about her injustice to him. Her wide-eyed expression confused him, for one side of his face scrunched up in puzzlement. It was all so familiar, yet something she'd never expected to see again. She didn't even know if she wanted to see it again.

She stood abruptly, the plastic chair falling over with a clang. His face changed to alarm, his body struggling futilely to rise. She pulled her gaze from his and tore out of the room, breathing hard and ignoring his shouts as they echoed down the stark white hallway.

She couldn't handle this. She wanted Blaise. She wanted the man she loved with all her heart, not the man she had labeled as gone forever.


	3. Part 3

**Pretending the Past  
Part 3**

The bathroom door shut with a click, and the book Hermione had clutched to her chest dropped onto the counter with a thud. The title, _Household Medical Spells_, swirled on the front cover in gold letters. She could not bring herself to open it, not just yet, so she sat heavily on the closed toilet lid, taking deep breaths to calm herself down.

You could say many things about Hermione, but never that she was stupid. She'd spent many days recently in this very same bathroom with its peach painted walls, only then she was hugging the toilet as she emptied the contents of her stomach. While Ron fully believed that it was merely a bug that had her under the weather, she knew better, as much as she wanted to deny it.

Staring hard at the book, she stood. Shaky hands opened the book and flipped to the right page. The words PREGNANCY TEST blared out at her, making her cringe. If the test turned out negative, then she'd be more relieved than ever. But she knew, instinctively, that it would not be so. She knew just as well what the ramifications of a positive test would be, and they made her shudder fearfully.

She read and then reread the short section, her heart thudding loudly in her chest. So loudly, that she almost feared Ron would hear it from the bedroom and come running in. Her eyes frantically darted to the door, yet she was no less nervous when the door proved to be locked.

Grasping her wand in one slightly shaking hand, she pointed it at her stomach and whispered the words, her eyes squeezing shut as she did so. She waited, anxiety causing her to hold her breath. After thirty seconds that passed far too quickly for her liking, she let out a resigned breath and opened her eyes.

Her wand clattered to the tile floor, and she began to shake from head to toe like a leaf caught in a fluttering breeze. Fear, anxiety, nervousness, and uncertainty flooded her mind. It was all she could do to stay upright, staring with a lump in her throat and her lips pressed together to stop her from sobbing at the mirror in front of her, staring at her stomach which glowed blue.

She was pregnant.

Saying it aloud, if only in her mind, seemed to knock her over like a bulldozer. She grasped onto to the counter with white knuckles, taking deep breaths to combat her light-headedness. It was not a shock. Somewhere in her mind she had already known, but that didn't change anything.

The hospital released Ron just two days prior, still medicating him with muscle-strengthening potions to build up his strength. Still, he could not move about for more than a few minutes without growing tired and having to sit down. Obviously, then, they hadn't made love in five long years.

She knew Ron wasn't stupid enough to believe the baby was his, and she didn't even want to think what he'd do when he realized he belonged to another man. Hermione's relationship with Blaise was kept secret from Ron by everyone in the Weasley family. They knew his out-of-control jealousy and temper. Abortion did not even factor in, as it would kill her to willingly kill her own child. A brief thought flit across Hermione's mind of having sex with Ron right that night, but it was immediately swept away by doubt. For one, she didn't know how far along she was, and for another, it would be all one big lie that would become very obvious when the baby was born without the trademark red hair and peculairly dark skin.

A knock on the door startled Hermione. She gave a shriek and jumped, sending the book flying off the counter to land loudly on the floor. She scrambled to pick up the book, her hands shaking wildly with nerves and anxiety.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Ron sounded concerned, and he fiddled with the doorknob, stopping when he realized it was locked. Hermione bit her lip, feeling dread fill her. He would guess, he'd know, he'd be able to tell what spell she just did. In a frenzy, she dumped the book in the bathtub and snapped the curtains shut.

"F—fine!"

"You don't sound fine. What's going on?"

She jumped toward the door, fighting with the lock frantically before swinging the door open wide to reveal Ron standing there with his brow furrowed in worry. She fought the rising panic and plastered a smile on her face.

"Woman stuff," she said quickly. The half-truth had the desired effect, making him wrinkle his nose and look decidedly uncomfortable. He didn't press the issue, so her heart gradually slowed down to a mere anxious pace instead of panicked.

"What do you want?" She was glad when her voice lacked the impatience she felt. She felt ready to snap any moment, her nerves taunt with the pressure of taking care of Ron while pretending that everything was as it used to be. But she wasn't stupid enough to think that admittance of her love for Blaise would solve anything; so she put on her fake smile, and tried to ignore the niggling anxiety and guilt that was eating her away.

"A sandwich?" he asked hopefully, looking at her with bright blue puppy eyes and clutching his stomach pitifully.

She stared at him in amazement, having been expecting the accusations and realizations her mind had been imagining. Instead, he was the same old clueless Ron just looking for food. She nodded, dumbfounded and unable to wrap her mind around the fact that he didn't know anything - at least, not yet.


	4. Part 4

**_A/N: _**_So it was brought to my attention that I didn't warn you guys of any DH spoilers or anything. Well, I suppose this follows DH, but that won't matter much. It does not, however, follow the epilogue, as I'm sure you've already guessed... On another note, how surprised are some of you that I'm updating regularly?_

**Part 4**

Patrons filled Diagon Alley to the brim. Gossiping witches huddled together to share the latest scandal while keeping a close watch on the little children that played tag in the alley. Shifty warlocks under thick hoods slid into Knockturn Alley. The bright autumn day came with a warm breeze and plentiful sunshine, coaxing everyone out of their homes before the weather could become blustery.

With the Alley so full, no one noticed the pop that signaled the arrival of Hermione, nor did she fully realize where her feet were automatically leading her. With her eyebrows pulled together, her eyes unfocused, and her teeth biting her lip, it was clear her mind was elsewhere.

To be specific, her mind was back at her appointment at Madam Moffington's Maternity Hospital. The doctor, a kind older woman named Rebecca, had given her a clean bill of health and announced that the fifteen-week-old baby was a boy.

For one brief moment, her imagination had opened to the possibility of what could have been. Images of Blaise cradling their tiny son with a tuft of dark hair; a fleeting scene of the two of them playing with a laughing three-year-old with Blaise's vibrant blue-black eyes – they had flitted before her eyes, only to be snatched cruelly away with a jolt back to reality.

She heaved out a great sigh and readjusted her coat irritably, still annoyed at her mind for taunting her with such thoughts. The guilt and sadness that overwhelmed her after those images brought her to tears, and luckily, Rebecca had assumed they were tears of joy, not tears mourning a future that she desperately wanted, no matter how much she hated herself for wanting it.

A bell jangled overhead, and she snapped out of her thoughts to see that she had stepped into the pub where she and Ron had arranged to have lunch. The interior was less dingy than the Leaky Cauldron, and catered more towards young families.

She spotted Ron's red hair easily and weaved through the tables to slide into the booth next to him. Ron gave her a wide grin that she half-heartedly returned.

"How'd the appointment go?" he asked as she picked up a menu.

"M-my appointment?" she repeated, eyes widening as she thought Ron knew what she had been doing earlier.

He gave her a funny look and said slowly, "Yeah. You said you had to go to the Ministry to figure out something to with my will and the coma?"

"Oh, right, right," she said hastily. "It's all worked out." Her little lie placated him, and the worry on his face smoothed out.

In reality, the will complications were solved when he still lay in the hospital working back his strength with therapy and potions, but when he saw the word appointment on the calendar she'd blurted out the first thing she could think of. It worked, though, and the muscles in her shoulders relaxed as she realized she was probably in the clear.

They ordered their food, a potpie for Ron and a salad for herself as her morning sickness would still act up with heavy foods. Ron prattled on about his new job in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, excitedly explaining to her that he would be working with a team to help set up the World Cup while she gave half an ear to listen. Her mind kept wandering back to the appointment and Rebecca's questioning about the lack of a husband by her side. Every time she looked at Ron with his bright blue eyes and freckles stretched over his cheeks by a wide grin, she had to look away, her stomach churning as she was reminded of his blissful ignorance. Eventually he'd know the truth, and he had a right to heart it from her own mouth.

"Listen, Ron," she interrupted. "I actually have something to tell you--"

She was cut off abruptly as a thin waitress walked up balancing two dishes. "And who ordered the pot pie?" Ron nodded his head eagerly and had dug in before the waitress had properly set the dish down. Hermione waited as butterflies multiplied in her stomach for Ron to finish devouring half of his lunch.

Ron must have realized that she'd been interrupted and put down his fork. "Sorry, Hermione," he said sheepishly. He gave her his full attention and she caved. He looked too innocent, too happy, to take this news well. His life was going so well know with the new job, and this could wait a while yet. At least, that's what she told herself to ignore the wild beating of her heart.

"Nothing really," she said, giving him a weak smile. "Just glad you like your job so much."

He beamed at her, and resumed his eating. Hermione just stared at her salad, mentally berating herself for her cowardice. Her fingers traced invisible circles into the smooth wooden table, her mind a tumult of emotions and worries.

"Wots 'ong?" The butchered words around a mouthful of chicken caused her to snap her head up, only to look away when she saw how much concern filled Ron's eyes. He deserved to know now, not later.

She sucked in a deep breath, gathering all her courage, mentally preparing herself for his temper, and opened her mouth to let it all tumble out. The words died on her tongue as an odd buzzing came from Ron.

He frantically glanced at his watch, then cursed under his breath. "Sorry, Hermione. Late for my meeting." He jammed one last forkful into his mouth and scooted out of the booth. Swallowing, he pressed a tender kiss to her temple. "We'll talk later, yeah?"

She gave a noncommittal nod in reply and watched as he dashed away through the pub. She sunk into the booth with a sigh, knowing fully well that they wouldn't talk later. Her courage ran the moment it saw a chance for escape, and she didn't know when she could push the worry away and summon it again.


	5. Part 5

**Part 5**

The smell of burning woke Hermione from her nap abruptly, and panic jolted her off the sofa and into the kitchen, her heart beating furiously. Thick smoke billowed off the stove while a pot bubbled over furiously. The acrid scent filled her nose, but luckily, no flames had yet to erupt in the kitchen. Her heart slowed down, an amused smile spread on her face, and she vanished the whole lot with a simple wave of her wand.

Footsteps announced Ron's arrival, and she turned with that same smile on her face: a mixture of amusement and resignation. "Honestly, Ron," she said, shaking her head, "warn me the next time you decide to cook so I can call the fire department."

"The what?" he asked curiously.

She just shook her head again; sometimes she forgot that they grew up in two different worlds. It wasn't until then that she noticed his attire. He had donned a crisp navy oxford with the sleeves rolled up and khaki trousers, uncharacteristically nice and not often worn unless Hermione specifically told him to.

"What were you doing?"

He looked down and rubbed the back of his neck a little nervously. "I was making you dinner, but, I dunno, I guess I kind of forgot how to make spaghetti…" He gave her a lopsided smile, obviously looking for forgiveness, but she already had forgiven him. The doctors said his memory would be spotty. He had no recollection of the night he was hit with the curse, and when he had put on shoes for the first time, he didn't remember how to tie them.

Still, the fancy clothes and attempt at making dinner puzzled her. "Why?"

He sent a funny look in her direction. "Happy Birthday, Hermione? Didn't you remember?"

Her eyes widened and her mouth said a silent _oh_ of realization. Was it already September? The shock nearly knocked her over. She only had six more months before the baby was born.

If her face showed any anxiety, Ron was too busy grinning and trying to hold in laughter. "Wow, this is priceless. Remind me next time I forget your birthday that I've got one free year, okay?" Hermione nodded distractedly, and so he went on, "So, er, let's go out then, shall we?"

Minutes later, she emerged from the bedroom with a small smile on her face. Ron's eyes dragged from her feet, encased in sensible shoes that added an inch of height;, up her body wrapped in a periwinkle blue dress robe, his favorite color;, to her face, framed by the little curls that had fallen out of a messy updo. She felt sixteen again as his gaze turned lustful, and a sudden shyness came over her. He grinned and hurried forward, pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he led her impatiently to the door so they could Apparate.

"The Silver Spoon."

Hermione stopped abruptly and slid her hand out of his with a not-so-gentle tug as a lump began to form in her throat. "I don't want to go out," she said stubbornly, her lips nearly trembling from the emotion that filled her to the brim.

"Why?" Ron questioned, a hint of worry hidden behind the impatience.

She looked away, trying to come up with an excuse, anything that would get her out of going to the Silver Spoon. It was where Blaise had taken her on their first date, and to every anniversary of that date. They'd had their first kiss in the booth overlooking the river. Going back to that place with Ron…well, either she'd stifle sobs the whole time or lose her appetite over the guilt that ate away at her.

"I just…don't," she said lamely. Ron's eyebrows furrowed and he reached for her hand, but she evaded him.

"Hermione, what's going on?" The worry was gone. His words snapped with anger that caused her to suddenly feel guilty. How could they possibly have a relationship if she couldn't tell him why she didn't want to go to the Silver Spoon, couldn't even tell them about a baby they'd have in six months? She blinked rapidly to keep the sudden tears at bay.

"I w-w-want to stay home," she said through a half-surpressed sob. The tears scared Ron. She didn't usually cry; she had her hormones to thank for this. He grabbed her hands tightly in his and rubbed the back of them with his thumbs.

"Er, alright. We can stay in," he offered gently. "I had Mum bring a pie over, your favorite."

A shaky smile appeared on Hermione's face, and a mixture of relief and hunger stirred in her belly. "P-pumpkin?"

Ron laughed and nodded. "Of course," he said, offering out his hand, which she took after wiping her cheeks. He lead her to the kitchen, and when Ron unveiled the pie, they both dug in heartily. The memories of Blaise slowly faded to the back of Hermione mind like they always did.

It felt like old times again, when they were younger and so in love that it hurt to be in different rooms. They stood by the counter and devoured the pie, like so many dinners before. The combination of good food and a full belly made Hermione relax, and Ron noticed, for soon they were joking and teasing and his fingers tickled her sides like old times.

"You've got a bit on your face," he told her with a grin.

She wrinkled her nose. "Get it off for me?"

Ron's grin widened and he unexpectedly leaned his face closer to hers. Her confusion lasted until she felt his tongue flick out to the corner of her mouth. She pulled back a little in surprise, looking at Ron with slightly widened eyes. And that's when she saw him for the first time, him, not the man she always compared to Blaise. She saw his freckles that she used to trace in the mornings while he still slept. She saw his blue eyes and how they shone ever time he looked her way. She saw the man she used to love.

So she slid her hands around his neck, tugging him closer, and pressed her lips to his. He responded eagerly, his tongue caressing her mouth, his hands brushing over the sides of her breasts in ways that brought back memories. Every touch made her cackle with electricity, and soon she found herself in the bedroom throwing off her robe, Ron already standing in his boxers.

"Merlin, Hermione," he groaned, his eyes raking her in, "I love you."

And just like that, he flipped a switch within her. She blinked, and he turned back into regular Ron whom she shared strained conversations with, while thoughts of Blaise and the baby niggled in the back of her mind constantly.

"I-I love you too, Ron," she said, cringing inside for it was a lie. An awful, terrible lie; but he was already yanking her shirt over her head, and her body didn't care about the guilt that swam in her head. She tensed for half a moment as his hands lightly ran down her stomach, but he said nothing but his frantic mutters of, _bloody hell you're gorgeous_.

And while her body responded to the hot kisses and sensual touches, she could do nothing but squeeze her eyes shut as moans forced their way out of her mouth, and drown in the guilt that consumed her. Her body arched into his every touch, her panties became soaked in a matter of minutes, yet her brain was acutely aware that his cheeks were too smooth, his tongue too slow, his fingers not long enough.

And they would never be right, because Ron wasn't Blaise, he never would be, and she could never go back to the way things were. So all she could do was lie back and cringe at the game of pretend.

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_A/N: I just want to say thanks to all my reviewers! I'm expecting at least 10 parts total, so we're about halfway!_


	6. Part 6

_A/N: I know you've been eager to see something happen, so here's some action, finally. There may be a slightly longer wait for the next part, as I'm having trouble tweaking it to where I'm satisfied, but hopefully you'll like this chapter. As always, reviews are loved._**  
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**Part 6**

The fall leaves crunched underfoot as they walked through the village. The gentle wind carried with it the crisp scent of autumn, the faint aroma of pumpkin, the smell of change. The hues of autumn: blood red, warm orange, dull yellow, covered the treetops and blanketed the ground.

Hermione used to love autumn, love the colors, love the change in the air. It was one last breath of beauty before the land turned ugly and hard for winter. Happy memories of carving pumpkins and playing in the leaves came over her with the slightest whiff of the autumn air. Now, she hated it. She hated autumn, the change, the passing of time; because it meant the bump in her belly grew bigger and harder to conceal everyday.

She shifted, trying to make sure her long coat hid it as well as it could. With a gentle tug on Ron's hand, they slowed. Hermione had no desire to make it to the Burrow any time soon. She didn't need to be a Seer to know what would happen when she took off her coat and revealed the four and a half month pregnant belly underneath. Ron may be easily fooled by wearing oversized sweaters, learning to keep his mouth shut after she burst into terrified tears for two hours after he commented on her weight, but Molly had a sharp eye and seven kids. Ron may not know what a pregnant belly looked like, but Molly certainly would.

Ron smiled down at her and she gave an uneasy one back. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't smooth the worry from her forehead or calm the beating of her frantic heart.

"What's wrong?" he asked her. There was so much concern in his bright blue eyes that she knew she had to tell him now. He couldn't find out the same time everyone else would. It'd be unfair to him. She stopped, tugging at his hand slightly so that he stood in front of her. He frowned at her, and she felt her lower lip tremble a little. Gently, he brought a hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb rubbing back and forth.

Hermione's eyes dropped to the ground and she knew she couldn't. She shrugged, turning her head away from his hand and tugging her arm out of his grasp. She was a coward, a pathetic coward who was a hurting a man because she didn't want to hurt him. It didn't make sense, but then, nothing did these days. Her head was constantly spinning with unmade decisions, half-formed convictions, and squelched desires.

"Everything's going to be okay, right?" She meant to say it as a reassuring statement, to get the frown on Ron's forehead smoothed away, but it came out as a desperate question.

"Of course it is," Ron answered. He caught her hand in his once more, giving it an encouraging squeeze that her heart echoed painfully. They kept walking in silence. The slight hill gave way to a rise of lopsided stories and peeling paint, the lawn covered with the giant leaves of a large oak tree: The Burrow. Her heart picked up its harried pace as did Ron's legs, driven by the savory aromas wafting from the kitchen where a pie undoubtedly sat cooling.

Of course it is, his words echoed in her head. She wanted to laugh hysterically at that, at the mess everything would soon be. She wanted to cry because he believed everything would be okay. She wanted to run away forever and leave this game of pretend behind, run back to the safety of Blaise's strong arms, but never once did her brain let her continue that sort of thought.

Ron led her up the steps to the front door and swung it open with a great holler of hello as he stepped through. He shrugged out of his coat and threw it haphazardly on the coat stand, yet Hermione kept hers on, clutching it closed so tightly that it became suffocating.

A swarm of redheads converged on them, yelling their greetings. His brothers and parents stepped forward to tackle Ron in a hug, to welcome him back to the Burrow for the first time in five long years. Little nieces and nephews hung back, unsure who this mysterious Uncle Ron was. Harry stepped towards Ron with a giant grin splayed across his face and grabbed him in a hug longer and harder than ever in his life. Even Draco came forward to shake hands, not even the slightest hint of a smirk adorning his face.

Through it all, Hermione hung back, barely able to breathe through the panic that consumed her. She refused to relinquish her coat to the coat rack that was tapping her on the shoulder from behind.

As much as she wanted to slink into the shadows, Ginny and Draco spotted her. Immediately they both grabbed her in a three-way hug. It lasted the briefest of moments before they both stepped back. Ginny stared at her belly with eyes the size of saucers, and Draco offered a small, pitying smile as they both realized that her new firm stomach was not fat in the least. She tried to swallow down the Quaffle lodged in her throat.

Everyone still stood cramped in the small entryway, chatting and laughing, while Hermione's corner was a section of apprehensive silence. Molly bustled over, her big smile contrasting so vividly with the three worried, drawn faces, yet she didn't notice.

"Come, dear, take off your coat," she urged. Hearing this, the coat stand held out a hook impatiently. Shaking fingers slowly undid the buttons, and she paused, trying to drawn in a calming breath and failing miserably. One swift movement later revealed the over-sized sweatshirt that stretched against her growing stomach in a way that could have suggested she was simply gaining weight, unless one had Molly's sharp eye and experience.

"Oh, Hermione, congratulations! A grandbaby!" Molly yelled, rushing forward to crush her in a hug. Hermione winced and pulled away quickly, noting that every eye in the room now stared at her. Ron frowned and pushed forward to stand next to Molly while Hermione's eyes slid close and she moved her head from one side to the other slowly.

A collective intake of breath swept through the room as everyone put together the pieces of the puzzle. Hermione shook, either in fear of Ron's reaction or because of the icy chill that seemed to sweep over her, and her heart beat a tattoo against her ribs so painfully that she could hardly breathe. The silence of the room became a deafening roar in her ears.

When the silence was broken, Hermione forced herself to open her eyes, met with the betrayal in his, the betrayal she fully deserved. "You bloody well better tell me we're having twins," he said harshly. "Because you don't look only two months pregnant."

She drew in a shaky breath that sounded more like a sob and her eyes dropped to the ground. She couldn't look at those hurt blue eyes anymore, to see the angry slash of a mouth across his face and the way he looked murderous.

"DAMMIT!" he yelled, and she jumped back as though physically hit. He stomped forward until he was mere inches from her. His hands roughly grabbed her tear-stained face and jerked her chin up so she was forced to stare into his eyes, eyes so angry that she instinctively grabbed her stomach. He looked down abruptly and saw the bump, the way she held it protectively; and when he looked back up at her face, it was not anger that she saw. It was an accusing stare of deserved betrayal, of deep, penetrating hurt.

Then he was gone, and the abrupt sound of a door slamming in the silence made everyone jump. She was vaguely aware of someone leading her towards the kitchen, of another person running after Ron, but she couldn't see anything but the last look he gave her.


	7. Part 7

**Part 7**

The thick, leather-bound book rested on the slightly pooching belly, opened to only the third page despite an hour of reading. Watery brown eyes stared, unseeing, at the pages, blurred with the tears pooling in her eyes. Every so often a drop would escape, trailing down wet cheeks to land with a gentle _plop_ on the book and make another wrinkly mark in the page.

A half-hearted sigh escaped Hermione's lips as she looked up into the fire. It blazed in the fireplace large enough for two grown men to stand inside it, yet she couldn't feel its warmth inside her; just the numbness that enveloped her and threatened to never let go, a feeling that brought her back five long years before her life became the mess it now was. The fire blazed perpetually, enforced by magic, and she wished that she had the same ability to wave her wand and set everything right in her life. The only problem with that was, she didn't know exactly what would make her life right.

Her eyes welled up with another strong wave of tears, and she cursed pregnancy hormones under her breath, not for the last time. The flames licked the top of the fireplace suddenly, turning a blinding, sickly green. She saw a flash of red contrast against the flames through her tear-blurred vision and gasped, her heart pounding with excitement and anticipation.

"Oh," she said in disappointment, deflating into the dark green sofa. Ginny gave her a sad smile and invited herself to the seat next to her best friend.

"He hasn't come back yet?" Ginny asked, hesitant.

Hermione shook her head. "No. It's been two weeks..." Her words, quiet and uncertain, nothing like her usual tone, trailed off. Another tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped if off under the pretense of setting her book on the end table. She'd cried enough in front of Ginny the day Ron had run off.

Ginny scooted over to Hermione. Then, she wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders and hugged her fiercely. "He'll come back. He loves you, Hermione."

Hermione's eyes darted to the ceiling, her brows drawing in and her mouth showing the first expression in days even if it was a frown. "I don't love him. Not like that."

Her confession, always known in the back of her mind, startled her to hear it out loud. She breathed in sharply through her nose, and spared a glance at Ginny. Her friend did not look surprised in the least, merely accepting, knowing.

"I thought so. Listen, Hermione, you shouldn't have to stay with him just because everyone expects you to. You love Blaise; you're carrying his child, for Merlin's sake. You belong with him. Hell, Hermione, Mum would have planned out your marriage years ago if you'd let her." She tried to send Hermione a smile, but it was quickly ignored and Hermione studied her left hand instead.

Hermione looked down at the ring: a worn, second-hand band made of gold, with a dull diamond and two little rubies set on either side. She could remember clearly how much she loved it when he proposed, how unsure he was about giving her something second-hand, and how she'd shown him just how much she loved it that night. "We're married, Ginny. And I made a vow to him. I can't back out. I can't hurt him like that."

"And what if you're hurting him more now, being with him without loving him?" Ginny demanded angrily, pulling her arms from Hermione and fixing her with a stare that Hermione's eyes returned dully. "Did you ever think about that?"

"I do love him," Hermione insisted, but her words sounded hesitant even to her.

"Yeah, but you're _in_ love with Blaise."

Silence descended upon them as Hermione had nothing to say to that. Every word was true. Yet she steadfastly stood by what she believed, and said so: If Ron still wanted her back, he'd have her and they'd make it work. If…

"What if he doesn't take you back, Hermione?" Ginny challenged, her dark brown eyes glinting, not even bothering to care about Hermione's cringe. "What then? Will you go back to Blaise?"

Hermione didn't say anything to that, so Ginny continued, "Or are you just taking the safe route because you're scared Blaise doesn't still love you?"

"His temper's worse than Ron's," Hermione whispered, staring at her teacup. "Imagine how angry he'll be knowing that I kept it from him that I'm pregnant, with him having had seven stepfathers and so determined to be a good father to his kids."

"Maybe," Ginny said, indignation still giving an edge to her words. Then she softened and put a gentle hand on Hermione's arm that caused her to turn her head and look at Ginny curiously. "But did you ever think of how happy he'll be?"

Hermione felt jolted, sucking in a deep breath. Unbidden images flashed before her eyes, the same that had crushed her when she saw them in Rebbecca's office. Her heart squeezed painfully, yet a sudden emotion shone across her face, one that made Ginny smile encouragingly.

"Do…do you think so?" Hermione asked, almost overwhelmed with the burgeoning hope. It fought, pulse for pulse, for control over her heart, hope that Blaise may want a part in this and despair that Ron obviously did not. She was torn, nearly equally, but the lure of the warm feeling of hope rising from her toes to her almost smiling face was too much, and she gave in.

Minutes later, her shaky hand dipped a quill into a pot of ink and then poised it over an expecting piece of parchment. It scratched against the parchment, pausing after every word, its writer hesitating with each breath, each fluctuation of this sudden hope. The words, so precious, were entrusted to an owl, who winged his way towards one unsuspecting Blaise Zabini, sending an announcement of the son he didn't know he had, and, she hoped, wanted.

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_A/N: Ohhhhh. What will happen next? At this point, your guess is as good as mine. I'm having some trouble getting part 8 to cooperate, so it may be a bit longer of a wait than usual. Sorry! Just out of curiosity, who's everyone rooting for? Blaise or Ron?_


	8. Part 8

_A/N: Finally, right? Let me just say that this took forever to come out right, and now I'm so satisfied with it. And you great readers will only have to wait a week for part 9, maybe less depending on how fast my lovely beta is. _

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**Part 8**

The tallest room of the crooked, homely Burrow still had orange walls, although the paint had faded with time, reducing the color to something bearable. Other than that, everything about it had changed. Gone was the forgotten frog tank. The wood floor was now visible and not hidden beneath layers of putrid clothes tossed there by a messy teenage boy. Now a soothing yellow quilt covered the nicely made bed with a trunk sitting at the foot inscribed with the initials _HG_.

Bathed in flickering candlelight, the peaceful-looking room was anything but. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, curling protectively around her bulging belly and biting her lip. Molly knelt beside her, smoothing the other woman's hair back and murmuring for her to breathe and relax.

"It's too early," Hermione moaned.

"I know, dear," Molly told her soothingly, grasping her hand. "Rebecca's on her way. She'll be here as soon as she can."

Hermione nodded, and then gasped abruptly as she felt the tightening pain roll up again. She gripped Molly's hand tight enough to turn her knuckles white, breathing harshly through the contraction. After a few agonizing seconds, it was over, and she sagged against Molly in relief.

"They're getting closer," Molly said worriedly. Hermione barely registered her words. Her mind swirled with the worry and pain. Her hands clutched at her stomach. It was far too small for a normal baby. She could almost still see her feet when she stood, for Merlin's sake, and if Fleur and Molly were anything to go by, she shouldn't have been able to for two months before labor.

"Hermione, breathe."

She was honestly trying to, but she felt her breaths shuddering with the familiar sounds of sobs. Molly's hand wiped off her tears like her mother used to when she was just a little girl, and she found herself wishing for those times: when any type of hurt could be healed with a kiss.

"Will he be okay?" she asked quietly.

"As soon as Rebecca gets here, she'll give you the potion. It will pause your pregnancy until the baby is big enough," Molly explained, giving her a reassuring smile.

"And—and if she doesn't get here in time?"

Molly's smile turned upside-down and she sighed, wrapping Hermione up in her arms. "Life is full of miracles, Hermione. We will do all we can to make sure your son survives. If he's anything like you, he'll be strong."

Another wave of pain crashed into her, and she clenched her teeth and tried to breathe through it. Mercifully, it passed as quickly as the last, yet it left Molly with a frown that had her worrying even more. Before she could ask her, though, Arthur stuck his head in the room.

"Is she here yet?" Molly asked her husband anxiously. Arthur gave her a quick shake of his head. Hermione looked down at the floor and tried to focus on Molly's words of encouragement, but it was too hard, like trying to ignore your imminent death when you'd already fallen off a cliff.

"Hermione, is there anyone you want me to Floo?"

Hermione looked up at Arthur, who peered at her sadly from behind glasses, and tried to fathom what that meant.

"Ron...or Blaise?" he clarified.

"Oh," escaped her mouth. Her mind felt completely numb and she didn't have the energy to make this choice. It had been a month and a half since Ron had walked out. This was the reason Molly insisted on moving her to the Burrow, since the older woman thought a pregnant woman should not be alone. Blaise hadn't replied to her letter either, although a small part of her hoped a response sat somewhere in her house.

Her eyes slipped closed. She suddenly felt exhausted. "I don't know. I don't care." She heard the door shut quietly, and Arthur's footsteps faded into silence.

The contractions began to come a little quicker, a little longer, and she and Molly fell into a pattern for the next hour. They'd sit and rest, clutching each other's hands, then Hermione would double over as her abdomen contracted and Molly would remind her to breathe, then she'd slump onto Molly's shoulder as the woman hid her worried looks at the door and absently told her that everything would be fine.

Hermione felt her hope began to wane, like sand sifting through her fingers to the point where she could only find a few grains hidden in the wrinkles of her palms. She fervently wished this were all a horrible nightmare when Molly kindly suggested that she lie back so the older woman could check how far along she was. The reassuring smile sent her way did little to reassure her.

It was when she was clutching the quilt during another contraction, eyes squeezed shut, that the door opened. In the haze of pain she could just make out Rebecca's dark hair and confident voice. The dam broke inside Hermione, and relief flooded through her, filling her so much that tears welled up in her eyes. Molly's hand squeezed hers gently as the healer went to work.

"Well," Rebecca said, coming into Hermione's view with a smile on her face, "I got her just in time. Another five minutes and we would have had a crisis." A weak laugh bubbled out of Hermione as her heart finally slowed and she allowed her white fingers to ease their grip on the quilt.

"Here, take this," Rebecca commanded, handing over a vial of purple liquid. "You'll fall asleep for a few hours, but it's only to let your metabolism slow so the potion can take effect. I'll be here when you wake."

"Thanks," Hermione said weakly, but Rebecca waved it off, merely saying it was her job. Hermione knocked back the potion, not even gagging on the foul taste her relief was so great, and instantly felt her eyelids droop to welcome sleep.


	9. Part 9

_A/N: The random story alerts I receive every week have inspired me, as well as rereading this and seeing the potential I failed to see before. It might not become a great fic, but I think I can salvage it so that it gets a decent ending. So, this is a new and improved part 9, with more to come of course. I do hope you enjoy my return to updating this fic, and I apologize for a lack of consistency in the writing style. It has been a while. _

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**Part 9**

The sunlight that assaulted her eyes through her lids made Hermione blink sleepily to awareness. She grumbled the sleepy, indignant grumbles of one who doesn't wish to wake yet, for she felt unusually groggy for being an early riser. She turned, awkwardly due to her stomach as always. Just as she decided to fall back asleep, her brain clicked awake with astounding clarity of the night before.

Instantly her hand flew to her stomach, eyes popping open wide despite the offending light, and her mouth fell open in a relieved grin. Everything would be just fine.

"Glad to see a smile on that face, dear."

Hermione looked up at Molly, who was bustling in with a cup of steaming, fragrant tea and toast, and her smile turned warm. "Molly, thank you so much for last night," she gushed, shimmying into a sitting position to accept the tray Molly laid in her lap. "I don't know what I would have done without you, honestly—"

"Hush, Hermione," Molly said, warmth radiating from her. She patted Hermione's hand in a motherly way. "You think I wouldn't have been there for a woman I consider my own daughter?" While Hermione ducked her head to hide the pleased expression on her face, Molly fussed with the quilt and snapped open the curtains to bring in the sunshine.

"You have a visitor. Shall I bring him in?"

Hermione looked up and dropped her, now completely unimportant, toast as her heart lifted. She carefully chose not to examine exactly what visitor she was hoping to see. At this point, it would be a relief to see either man.

Or so she thought.

As Molly left, giving her a reassuring smile, her visitor slunk in the door, hands in his pockets and looking down at the worn floorboards. Hermione released a slow breath and tried, in vain she was sure, to hide her disappointment from the both of them.

Silence pervaded the room until he muttered, "Hullo, Hermione."

"Ron."

He looked up at her from the corners of his eyes as if scared to meet her gaze full on. "I've been a right prat, haven't I?"

Hermione really tried to return the smile he offered her, but it was fake and he noticed. "Yes, actually," she said honestly, dropping her eyes to her toast. When she heard Ron sigh, she continued, "I haven't been so great either."

Silence once again crept in and settled on the conversation as she stared at the blue duvet. Neither of them knew where to proceed. Did they admit their faults, apologize, and try to work it out? Or were there some things that could never be truly forgiven, some betrayals and lies that always stuck around?

He startled her by sitting on the bed. The uneven weight tipped the tray dangerously, so when Ron set it out of the way, he had a clear view of her stomach. The covers came only to her waist and, leaning against the pillows as she was, her stomach protruded with her shirt stretched over its perfect roundness.

"Is the baby okay?" he asked quietly, one hand hesitantly reaching out to touch it but dropping halfway in its journey. Hermione, uncertain about this new peace, was secretly glad.

"Now, yes. I'm bed-ridden, but there's a good chance he'll stay there long enough for me to deliver him when he's full term." She glanced at Ron, who had a contemplative expression on his face. "It's a boy, by the way.. I don't think you knew that."

"No. No, I didn't know."

It reminded Hermione that he knew so little about this entire situation. His ignorance made him angrier, it always did. She knew he had a right to understand what was going on, but she was afraid of his reaction.

She'd feel less guilty if she at least explained herself. "Do you want to know…"

"Who the father is?" Ron finished, frowning bitterly at the wall. "Yes, I do."

Hermione swallowed. "Blaise Zabini."

Ron stiffened beside her. She knew that he was instantly recalling Blaise as a Slytherin, although he'd only supported Voldemort as much as he had to for survival.

"When...when did it all start?"

Hermione began to tell the story, the words tumbling out of her mouth as the memories flowed. They had met a year after Ron's accident at the hospital. He only vaguely remembered her, so when he found her sitting in the hallway crying, his curiosity was piqued. He struck up a conversation, and Hermione found someone she could talk to. So she talked about Ron and how hard it was for her, her uncertainties, her dashed dreams of the future. But that wasn't all. They talked of new spell developments and changes in the Ministry as well as Wizarding and Muggle culture alike. They went to Quidditch games and Muggle art museums.

He was a friend.

Eventually, he grew to be a lover.

"How did Mum and Dad and the rest take it?" Ron asked, his voice strangely void of emotions.

Hermione sighed. "Not well at first. I think everyone followed me subconsciously. If I still had faith that you would wake up, everyone did. Seeing another man really made them all realize that there was a very good chance you would never wake up and I had realized that." She paused. "Eventually, they came round and were supportive. Draco and Ginny in particular were glad to see I was moving on."

"I wasn't dead," Ron protested gruffly.

Hermione put her hand on his leg. "You may as well have been. But worse, much worse." She dropped her eyes when he looked at her curiously. "There was a very slim chance you would ever wake, even with the best magic and Muggle medicine out there. As each year passed, that chance shrunk. It was like you were dead, but there was always that niggling hope and doubt that one day you could just wake up. And...well, you did."

Her voice drifted into silence, and she watched him contemplate everything she had just said. Her own emotions were a jumbled mess; this talk combined with the fact that Blaise had never replied to her owl made her think, perhaps even hope, that they could work again.

"So, where do we go from here?"


	10. An Aside

_A/N: A short little piece, to give you Blaise's point of view. _

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**An Aside**

_Blaise,_

_I don't really know how to go about telling you, and as much as I'd like to say this face to face, I doubt that's going to happen. _

_I'm pregnant. _

_It's a boy. I'm five months along and doing well. Ron walked out on me when he found out, because of course he realized it wasn't yours. _

_I feel lost, Blaise. Could you at least write back if you don't want to visit? _

_Love,_

_Hermione_

The letter was instantly crumpled and tossed in the fire. It missed the flames and settled on the warm coals, but he didn't bother to poke it into the fire. He just stared at it with a drink in one hand, taking the occasional sip and hardly noticing it.

His emotions had fled the minute he had seen the familiar handwriting, fled off into a distant corner of his mind where they could be safe. Apart from the brief shock, he felt detached and objective about the situation.

He could see her. He could write back to her.

But he didn't want to.

He didn't know why he was being so stubborn. It was so uncharacteristic of him, and something that must've rubbed off Hermione. Yes, Ron had walked out, but was that for good? Or would he come back unexpectedly, again, and shove Blaise out of the happiest life he had, again?

He threw the rest of the drink down his throat and settled heavily on the couch. Rolling the glass between his hands, he stared down at them. His mind picked over scenarios. Perhaps, if he came back before Ron, she would choose him. But she had loved Ron so strongly...maybe she still held those old feelings for him.

He didn't know, and he couldn't figure it out. An unbidden image of a little baby with his dark skin and her honey brown hair crept into his mind, and anger rose in him, bubbling and swift.

With a crash, the glass shattered against the wall, and he got up and kicked the paper into the fire, where it shriveled and burned in mere seconds.


	11. Part 10

_A/N: Oh look, another one. I can't say I'm really editing these that well, so sorry about that. I'm just trying to finish this thing while I still have the motivation. _

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**Part 10**

The same old faded orange walls surrounded her, suffocating her, as they did the past two weeks. Books lay open and abandoned in teetering piles, books she began to read then discarded, as her restlessness didn't allow her to finish. No matter how many Muggle novels she read about travels to far off lands, she could not ignore the firm fact that she was to be stuck in this room for another two months to come.

Sometimes the oppressive trapped feeling was enough for her to risk a walk to stretch her legs. She dared to once, reveling in the freedom for five bitterly short minutes before Molly caught her, earning her a frightful berating. She'd since discovered that Molly had put a ward on the room to alert her should Hermione dare step a toe into the hallway again. Simply put, she didn't.

A knock sounded from the door, as it always did every day after lunch. A quick glance at the calendar (which, of course, was half covered with large red X's) told her that it would be Draco.

"Hello, Draco," she said listlessly, turning towards him with an utterly bored expression.

"I'm so happy that you're glad to see me," he drawled.

"Always."

"Your sarcasm is particularly potent today," he told her, leaning up against the door with his arms folded across his chest. A small smirk crept onto his face. "Perhaps you'd be more sincere if it were Ron walking through the door?"

Hermione gave a short laugh. "Sincere is one word. Annoyed works just as well."

Draco's smirk grew into a conspiratorial grin that made Hermione lean forward, quite interested in what he had to say. "Suppose Ron were sitting downstairs in the kitchen right now…"

One look plainly conveyed what Hermione was too shocked to get out in words, and after a delighted waggle of his eyebrows, Draco disapparated. She had approximately three seconds, she estimated, before Draco would return with Ron, the man she had failed to see since he'd learned of her relationship with Blaise and promptly walked out, again, without saying a word.

Draco reappeared, tightly clutching a reluctant Ron. Draco's smirk grew ever wider as Ron struggled out of his grip, finally wrenching his arm free and giving the man a withering glare.

"Hello, Ron," Hermione said calmly. Frustration bubbled beneath her seemingly calm exterior, which was almost a relief to feel since it meant that guilt and shame no longer ate away at her silently. "Draco?"

"Do I really have to leave?" the blonde nearly whined. After a raised eyebrow from Hermione, he conceded, sighing and muttering until the door clicked shut.

Hermione turned to look at Ron, watching him as he scuffed his toe along the edge of the carpet like a little kid, his hands stuck in his pockets, hunched over and unwilling to look at her. She wished, with a silent sigh, that things between them were how she'd once dreamt them, loving and passionate. In reality, the only words they spoke out of passion were spiteful and petty, always in argument. She had to wonder if they could survive bringing up another man's child, had to wonder if she actually wanted to try.

"You left me again." She didn't mean to sound accusing, but even she could hear it in her voice. Ron didn't react as she expected, mumbling an apology or offering up excuses. Instead, he straightened up and looked her right in the eye, a stare that painfully echoed the one she received when he learned of her pregnancy.

"You left me first."

"You were practically dead!"

"But I was still alive."

Hermione snorted. "What, so I'm just supposed to give up on having anything resembling a life and spend all my time at your bedside while there was no change, Ronald?"

The fight and its tension petered off, both of them staring at each other and silently cooling down. Ron eventually came to sit on the foot of her bed, looking at his hands with a furrowed brow and a closed mouth.

She didn't want him to run away again. They needed to talk. "Why do you keep sending people up here to keep me company?" she asked.

Still, Ron didn't look at her, but at least he answered. "I dunno. I figured you were lonely."

"Why didn't you come up?"

"Did you want me to?"

Hermione nearly exclaimed, "Of course, Ron. You and I need to talk about all of this mess."

"No," Ron interrupted, glancing at her sidelong. "Did you want me?"

It became clear what he meant. Did she want him, sitting beside her bed, hoping for a healthy baby and delighting over the kicks he could feel? Did she want him to help her raise Blaise's baby?

She began to cry. The tears ran down her cheeks unrestrained, and sobs jerked out of her mouth in an ugly scene. She covered her face with her hands and wept, and when Ron gently put his arms around her in an unusual display of affection, she hid her face in his jumper and kept sobbing in the warm comfort of his arms.

They stayed that way for minutes, neither of them attempting to talk, as Hermione sobs quieted and subsided into hiccups. She stayed in his arms, her temporary safe haven, until the door creaked open.

Both of them looked up and gasped at the figure who stood in the door, looking at the compromising scene before him.

Hermione quickly pulled away from Ron and rubbed her tear-streaked face, only half noticing as Ron stood and moved to the far wall out of the way.

"Blaise?"


	12. Part 11

**Part 11**

The room was thick and heavy with silence. Tension caused the ragged breathing and uncertain swallowing and shifting as each person struggled to find something to say. Hermione's mind whirled with questions, yet each one died on her tongue as she saw the thunderous look on Blaise's face.

She simply settled for repeating herself nervously. "Blaise?"

Blaise ignored her, his eyes sliding without concern over to Ron who leaned against the wall out of the way. "What," he asked roughly, "was that?"

Ron shrugged, pushing off the wall and walking towards the door. "Ask her, mate." The malice in his voice was contained enough that he sounded polite, but the way the two men stiffened and glared as Ron passed Blaise out the door told a different story.

Hermione's breath hitched as Blaise fixed his gaze upon her. It was a hard look she wasn't used to, calculating and appraising her and the situation with none of the warmth she was accustomed to. His eyes dropped to her stomach, and as he noted her protruding stomach, he sighed and looked away with a bitter twist to his mouth.

"I don't even know why I came," he muttered, giving her once last glance before turning swiftly and slipping through the doorway.

"Blaise, wait!" Hermione called after him. He didn't listen, not that she expected him to, so she threw off the covers and pulled herself out of bed.

After a few tottering steps, she hurried after him, cursing her belly for slowing her down. Ron, who had stayed in the hallway, called after her and reached for her, but she shook him off violently and disappeared down a twist in the stairs.

The wards activated, a loud wailing drowning out the noise of her feet hitting the creaky steps, and it reminded her that this was possibly the stupidest thing she could do. Despite that, she did not slow nor waver in her determination to get to Blaise before he too could run away.

She thudded into the kitchen, where half a dozen faces looked up at her in shock. "Where'd he go?" she asked desperately.

Molly's face grew red in outrage, and the cacophony of people urging her to return to bed that instant became overwhelming. Hermione ignored them and escaped their clutches by mere fingertips; she had seen a flash of Blaise through the back window.

"Blaise, wait!" she called out.

As he turned slowly and reluctantly, Hermione felt a trickle run down her leg that became a torrent. In a mere second, it was over. Hermione looked down in shock, the stupidity and reality of her actions finally hitting her like a Bludger.

Blaise ran forward, but she hardly noticed. The contraction came swift and hard, twisting her insides unbearably to the point where she could do nothing but scream and double over. Multiple hands grabbed her, someone yelled something, a hand gripped hers which she gratefully squeezed until the pain subsided.

She was half-carried into the house and vaguely aware of Molly shouting for a bed, which she was quickly laid upon. The boys were ushered out of the room, and Molly stripped her pants and disappeared below. She came up looking weary and worried.

"The baby's going to come fast. I've had Harry floo Rebecca. This is it, Hermione," she said sternly. "You nearly ready, and when I say push, you need to push. It's not a time to be scared."

Hermione nodded, already scared beyond belief. She felt Ginny grip her hand, so when the contraction began again, she squeezed with all her might, resisting her urges when Molly commanded her not to push.

The pain was nearly unbearable. She screamed incomprehensible things, yelling out "I'm so sorry" repeatedly to no one in particular between sobs and grunts and keens.

"Hermione, Hermione!" Molly said, now up near her face and wiping it with a cloth. "You have to focus. It's time to push, okay? When the contraction comes, just push."

And she did, with all her might through the fear and pain, she focused on pushing and pushing until they said she could rest. She fell back, gasping for air and unable to even think, until she felt the shoulders come loose and the baby slipping out.

She scrambled onto her elbows to look and nearly lost her head.

He was quiet.

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_A/N: And you thought the last cliffhanger was bad... _


	13. Part 12

**Part 12**

The screams and cries were scary. Everyone in the kitchen cringed when another wail echoed from the den, all imagining the intense pain one would have to feel to make such a horrible, heart-wrenching noise. It made Blaise's hands sweaty with anxiety, and in the short interims between keens, his eyes darted from the door to Ron and back furiously.

He didn't understand anything that was going on. He knew Hermione was pregnant, but, unless he counted wrong the twenty times he recalculated, she wasn't due yet by a long shot. Then there was Weasley, willingly sitting there and not shooting him daggers with his eyes or struggling not to strangle him.

Another scream, powerful and purposeful, hit their ears. Blaise's head dropped into his hands, and he took deep, calming breaths. He wanted to bust through the door and help her, whatever she needed, but he wasn't sure he was allowed. So he sat, waiting with the rest, nerves on fire.

It suddenly became quiet. Deathly quiet.

A thin wail interrupted the silence, a mewling that could only come from a baby.

Blaise jumped to his feet as everyone else lifted their heads and gave smiles of relief. He froze and shot a questioning look at Weasley.

"Congratulations, I reckon," Ron said reluctantly.

"Thanks," Blaise said quietly. "Do you--Am I?" He gestured to the door, unable to find the right question.

"It's your kid, isn't it?"

Blaise ignored the nerves bubbling up. "Yes. But she's with you."

Ron shook his head. "Who do you think sent that owl?"

Before Blaise could question him further, Weasley gave him a push and he stumbled through the swinging door into the den. Instantly, his eyes alighted on Hermione, and he quite forgot any questions he may have asked.

She was sweaty, pale, and absolutely beautiful as she took the bundle of blankets from Molly. A smile of such joy graced her face that it lit up the whole room. He stood awkwardly as he watched her cuddle the bundle. Tears filled up her eyes and spilled over quietly.

"Well," Molly whispered to him, "go on then." The words were like a catapult to Blaise; he rushed over to Hermione in an instant.

She looked up at him. "You stayed."

"I couldn't leave you like this."

Her lower lip wobbled. "Would you like to see your son?" He nodded, and as he crept closer, she readjusted the bundle. When Blaise saw him, his world exploded.

Practically drowning in a sea of worries and fears, he gently reached out a hand to stroke the stick-thin arm. This was his son, a son he hadn't expected, nor really even wanted, yet now, as his eyes traced the scrunched up red face, he felt something burst in his chest that could only be described as complete, unconditional love.

"Why is he so small?" he wondered.

Hermione looked away. "He is six weeks early. I wasn't supposed to get out of bed, because I'd go into premature labor." The words and their meaning hit Blaise hard, accompanied by a wave of wrenching guilt.

Instantly, Hermione saw the tick in his jaw and the way he stiffened away from them. "Blaise," she said sternly, "it's not your fault. I should have stayed in bed. We're fine. You didn't mess anything up." She laid a gentle hand on his arm, and he reluctantly looked down at her. "Besides, I'm really happy you were here for this." She sat up a little more and held out the mass of blankets. "Want to hold him?"

Blaise's hands nearly trembled as he reached out, uncertainly bending his elbow under the head as instructed and holding the bundle close to his chest. The baby's--his son's eyes were still closed tight, but one of his hands had escaped from the cocoon of blankets. Blaise reached out a finger, and the grip that held him was unbelievably strong. An equally strong grip echoed in his heart.

"Why did you come?" asked Hermione.

"Ron sent me an owl," he replied, shrugging. "I didn't know who it was at the time, and there were enough threats in it that I figured I should come." Hermione looked pensive for a few seconds before speaking again.

"Would you mind taking him out to everyone? I want to talk to Ron."

--------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione heard a flurry of oohs and ahhs as her son disappeared through the door with Blaise. Moments later, Ron came shuffling out to stand a few feet away from the pallet awkwardly. Hermione studied him, marveling over the actions he had made and wondering what had made him decide to do it. When she was unable to find an answer, she simply asked.

"Why did you ask Blaise to come?"

Ron sighed as if he knew it was coming. "I dunno." He paused, then shook his head. "No, I do know. When you talked about Zabini and you, well, I got angry. I couldn't wrap my head around it, it's not been five years for me. But I started thinking. As much as I don't like it, you love him. And, y'know, that's his kid. I don't think I could've done that, raised him, I mean." He looked down at his shoes and said quietly, "And I don't think you deserved to be forced to stay with me."

Hermione eyes filled unexpectedly with tears, which she wiped off hurriedly. "Oh, Ron."

"It hurt though, Hermione. Keeping the truth from me for so long," he added.

"I know. I knew it at the time. I just didn't want to actively hurt you, and I didn't want to throw away our marriage," she faltered, seeing the twisted logic in her own words and actions. Ron raised his eyebrows at her, and she smiled weakly, saying his favorite apology line, "I was a right prat, okay?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I can take that."

Silence fell over the two of them as they mulled things over, coming to terms with the new directions in their lives. Hermione was torn between remorse and joy, knowing it would be quite a while before they would become close friends once more, but it seemed possible. Ron came over to her, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and smoothed back her hair. The look he gave her was full of love, but not loss. He'd obviously come to peace with his decision, something so unusually grown up for Ron that she felt all of her actions in the past seven months were embarrassingly immature and hurtful.

"I love you," she blurted out. His eyes widened in surprise. "Not.. like that. I still love you though, and I want us to be in each other's lives, best friends again."

Ron ruffled and mussed her already crazy hair. "Yeah, I think we can manage that. Eventually." He winked at her and strode over to the door, sticking his head in to yell, "Oy, you lot! You can c'min now!"

A tidal wave of redheads rushed through the door, including some that hadn't been there before. There was a babble of questions and concerns directed her way, but for the most part, she ignored them. Her eyes were focused on the dark-haired man coming through the door and clutching a bundle so close to his chest it was obvious he was afraid to drop it. The sea of people parted for him as he inched closer to Hermione.

"Hello, Blaise," Hermione said, feeling suddenly shy. When Blaise's dark eyes focused on her, a warmth bloomed in her chest that gently consumed all the feelings of guilt and shame and stupidity. Arms, Molly's most likely, gently lifted her son out of Blaise's grasp, freeing him to kneel beside her bed. His hand smoothed back the hair Ron had rumpled.

"Hello."

"I missed you."

He bent down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "I'm here for good now."

He stayed by her side, holding her hand, as she explained what happened to the friends and family surrounding her. Ron left after a while, but she wasn't worried; they would talk and see each other again. Time would heal them both.

She glanced over at Blaise, and happiness warmed her down to her toes. There were many things she should have done differently, but in the end, it worked out okay. Ron would find happiness one day, and she and Blaise could resume their lives, now with their new son.

* * *

_A/N: It's finally done. Whew. I do apologize for the lack of updates for so long, and what must be the poor quality of these last few chapters. I'm not nearly as satisfied with this fic as I'd like, but since so many people begged for updates, I did the best I could._


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